The First Punch
by DisenchantedDestroya
Summary: Short teen!chesters one-shot. John finally loses it with Sam in a way that neither brother ever expected, leaving Dean to clean up his mess.


**The First Punch**

Dean can't move, can't breathe, can't even _think_. All he can do it watch as something he thought would never happen unfolds right before his horrified eyes.

John and Sam have been at each other's throats for the past few days, all of it coming to a head this evening when Sam had the guts to ask for money to go on a grade-essential field trip. Next thing he knows, the poor kid's got an explosive John Winchester screaming at him about all of the fifteen-year-old's, apparently numerous, short-comings.

And now _this._

John's just punched Sam, clean in the jaw. The force of it propelling Sam back into the kitchen's tiled wall with a sickening _thud_. Dean hopes to god that his dad sees the blood, the tears and apologises like hell.

Instead, John throws another punch. And another. And another. Until Sam is curled up on the floor, heartbroken and hurt in equal measure.

Dean snaps out of his stunned trance when Sam screams. He runs to be next to his enraged father and cowering baby brother and takes a speedy stock of the situation. A quick inhalation tells him that their dad is most definitely drunk as a skunk and an even quicker glance tells him that Sammy needs him to make all of the pain just _stop and go away._

So he grabs John by the shoulders and hauls him away from Sam, practically flinging the fully grown man all the way across this month's apartment's kitchen. Dean stands protectively in front of Sam, glaring daggers at his inebriated father.

"Dad!" He shouts, letting his full fury bleed into his voice. "What the hell are you thinking, punching your own _son_ like that?"

John looks around Dean and sees Sammy, still curled up in a ball, his skinny back shuddering with the force of his sobs. John blinks hard, sobriety finding him and hitting him with a truckload of guilt. With one last glance at his boys he scurries out of the door, slamming it behind him, heading out to cool down and probably get himself drunk all over again.

Dean ignores the pit of hatred digging into his stomach and instead focusses solely on his whimpering baby brother. He drops to his knees besides the battered boy and just stares, completely clueless on how to fix this one.

"Sammy?" He tries, a hand resting gently on the teen's shoulder. Sam tenses at the soft touch, his mind too terrified and confused to recognise the touch as being friend, not foe. "It's alright little bro, it's just me. You're okay now."

Dean keeps up the mantra until it's the only thing Sam can think and hear over his own scattered, screaming thoughts. So the youngest Winchester slowly uncurls himself, looking around the room like an injured mouse on the lookout for a vicious cat. His eyes settle on his big brother and he immediately sags in relief, wanting nothing more than a hug from his protector but knowing better than to ask for one.

He's a Winchester after all. Or, he sort of is. He's too much of a disappointment to be a _true_ Winchester. No point in making Dean hate him too by inducing one of those stupid sentimental moments.

Steady, experienced hands find Sam's face and cup his bruised cheeks. Sam hisses at the violent ripples of pain that the touch induces but lets it continue, the comfort by far outweighing the pain.

Dean's eyes darken as he cradles his baby brother's face. One eye is damn near swollen shut, his nose is dribbling blood and both lips are split in multiple places. The sight makes the big brother feel sick to his stomach. He might be able to take it if Sam's state was caused by a monster or some son-of-a-bitch bully, but their own _father_?

He shakes his head, opting to think only of Sammy right now. Getting angry will only make this situation worse. So he carefully wipes at the blood on his brother's face with his thumb.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy." He sighs and then he does something that he doesn't even have to think about; Dean pulls Sam into a tight hug on the floor, tucking the kid's head into his shoulder and kissing Sam's scruffy hair like a mother would do. He might not have to think about it, but it means the world to Sam. "Just, Jesus fucking H Christ."

Sam shifts in the hold, extremely conscious of the way his blood is soaking into Dean's favourite Metallica t-shirt. Dean doesn't seem to care though and just pulls the teenager in tighter.

"Hurts, De." Sam murmurs, his voice croaky and waterlogged. "De," he coughs into Dean's shoulder, "De, 'm sorry."

"What you sorry for kiddo?" Dean coos. It feels so much like when Sam was little and used to trip over his own feet before he could use them properly that it _hurts_. Dean misses that childish innocence more than he will admit. "You've done nothing wrong, Sam. You hear me? _Nothing_."

Sam doesn't understand. Not one little bit. Dean's their dad's favourite son, always has been, so why isn't Dean siding with Dad? Why is this argument any different to all of the others before it? A deep, damaged part of him even wonders why Dean isn't hitting him too.

He pulls away a little, looking up at Dean's face and gasping at the sight of a tear trailing down his mighty big brother's face. None of this seems right. _Not at all_.

"B-but-"

"_Nothing_, Sam."

As the words finally sink in, Sam bursts into a fresh wave of tears. He'd rather have done something wrong and deserve the punches than have his father punch him purely because he hates his own son.

"Hey, shush now, Sammy, it's alright. I'm here." Dean whispers, a hand carding through Sam's hair. He winces when he finds a bump the size of a small egg at the back of Sam's head. "Shush, little brother."

"Why does he hate me?" Sam mumbles, the words so quiet and tearful that Dean almost misses them.

He doesn't though. Boy, he doesn't.

And all of a sudden, he wants to punch his dad for doing this. He wants to take Sammy away from here, from this life and send him to a good school, then maybe onto college. But that will never happen; this is the first time in his entire life that Dean wishes with all of his heart that it would. That's just the kind of effect that his little brother has on him.

"He doesn't hate you. Not at all, kiddo." Dean tilts Sam's head up by the chin and they lock eyes, their world's shrinking down to just each other. "He's just been under a lot of stress lately, that's all. Getting drunk probably didn't help either. Next time you need money you come to me, okay?"

"Okay." Is the small, exhausted response. "Thanks, Dean." Sam dares to smile, the expression so pitiful on his broken face that it makes Dean shudder. "For, y'know, saving my ass."

"No problem. It's what I do."

For the first time ever, Dean thinks he really does _hate_ John Winchester.

He just _loves_ Sam Winchester too much to let it show.

* * *

**A/N:** I know that this is by no means good, but I felt like writing me some fluffy and angsty teen!chester stuff, so here it is. I hope you guys liked it!

Thank you very much for reading this and please, **_please_**let me know what you think! :3


End file.
